It started with Cleo saying, "What if we just had one drink?"
It ended with four girls sprawled across their dorm like the aftermath of a very fruity apocalypse.
The "one drink" turned into Sera pulling out a glowing blue bottle from her stash called "Storm Brandy." No one questioned it. Cleo mixed it with soda and glitter syrup she found in her backpack. Ava poured hers straight. Ashley said she wouldn't drink—then drank half a cup and claimed she felt nothing.
Ten minutes later, Ashley was standing on the table shouting, "I am the queen of combustion and none of you are real!"
"Okay, but like," Ava said from the floor, spinning an empty shot glass on her finger, "if I'm not real, can I still kiss you?"
Ashley blinked. Paused. "You're… confusing."
Ava grinned, drunk and dangerous. "You're hot when you're confused."
Cleo was already halfway under a blanket fort made of bedsheets and chairs. "Guys, I made a gay cave. Come in. We can talk about our feelings or touch toes."
"No toe touching!" Sera shouted from the couch, where she was testing how much lightning she could generate without frying the TV. "Unless it's emotionally charged!"
Ashley tried to walk toward the couch, tripped over Ava's leg, and collapsed directly into her arms.
Ava caught her with a grin. "Wow, falling for me already?"
"I swear to GOD," Ashley mumbled into her neck, "if you make one more pun—"
"I'll make two, babe."
Sera flicked popcorn at them. "Get a room! Wait. No. Don't. We all share one. Ew."
Cleo popped up from the gay cave. "It's not ew, it's romantic! I ship them! I named the ship AshVa!"
Ashley lifted her head slowly. "That sounds like a type of explosive."
"Exactly!" Cleo beamed. "Like sexy TNT!"
"I'm going to explode you," Ashley slurred.
"Into a hug?" Cleo offered hopefully.
"No. Into dust."
Meanwhile, Ava had wrapped her arms around Ashley like a smug octopus. "You're warm. You smell like danger. I like it."
Ashley half-melted, half-frowned. "I'm literally on fire."
"Yeah," Ava purred. "Exactly."
Cleo started playing slow romantic music from her phone.
Sera groaned. "If they start slow dancing drunk, I'm gonna barf sparkles."
Ten minutes later, they were absolutely slow dancing.
Or swaying.
Or just holding each other and laughing like the world didn't matter.
At some point, Ashley stared at Ava with glassy eyes and said, "You make me wanna burn down a cathedral. That's gay, right?"
"Super gay," Ava whispered. "Ten out of ten. Would combust with you."
Cleo tried to get them to join a truth-or-dare circle but was too drunk to remember the rules.
Sera passed out on the beanbag with one arm raised dramatically like she died in a Shakespeare play.
Ashley fell asleep first—head in Ava's lap, small smile on her lips, a single flame flickering from her fingertip.
Ava leaned back, tipsy and victorious.
"I win again," she whispered.
The next morning hit like a brick wall.
Ashley woke first—head pounding, mouth dry, hair singed at the ends. She blinked at the ceiling, then slowly looked over to see Ava still asleep beside her, one arm draped over Ashley's waist like it belonged there. Cleo was curled up in the corner, hugging an empty energy drink, and Sera was face-down on the beanbag with her fingers twitching like she was electrocuting someone in a dream.
It had been a good night.
Too good.
The door slammed open.
Mercy wasn't there. Neither was Faith.
Instead, a tall teacher in a matte black trench coat walked in. No knock. No words. He simply tapped a button on the wall, and a holo-projector lit the room in red.
Everyone groaned.
"Emergency assembly," the teacher said. "Now."
They all dragged themselves out of bed like half-baked potatoes.
In the auditorium, the room was packed. Students sat quietly. The energy was… off. Tight. Less chaos. More unease.
On the stage stood the co-principals—Faith with arms crossed, Mercy unusually quiet at her side. Between them stood a woman in a black suit and sunglasses, her arms behind her back, posture military-perfect.
"This is Director Vale from Global Meta-Security," Faith said. "She has something you all need to hear."
Director Vale didn't waste time. Her voice was clipped, cold.
"A group known as The Pale Court has resurfaced."
A hush fell over the room.
"They're not like the villains you've faced. This isn't a joke. They don't monologue. They don't hold back. They kill fast, with intent. They're structured. Unified. Dangerous."
Cleo whispered, "Are they hot?"
Sera elbowed her. "Not the time."
Ashley's eyes narrowed.
Director Vale continued. "They've already hit three advanced academies in the past month. All wiped. Revival doctors couldn't save half of them."
The temperature around Ashley dropped—not cold, but quiet. Focused. Like her inner flame paused, waiting.
"They're targeting high-potential students," Vale added. "Like you."
Ava's hand brushed lightly against Ashley's. Unspoken, but steady.
"We're increasing defense protocols. You'll be assigned emergency partners. Group movement only. The next phase of your training begins now. Survive it, and you'll be ready."
She turned to leave. Then paused.
"One more thing. The Pale Court has a leader. Codename: Writhe. If you see him… run. Or don't. Either way, die fast."
She walked offstage.
Silence. Then murmurs. Then fear.
Faith took the mic. "Dismissed to combat prep. Now."
As the crowd began to move, Ashley stood still.
She didn't shake. She didn't flinch.
She grinned.
A crooked, firelit grin.
"Finally," she muttered. "Something real."